


what makes you happy

by icoulddothisallday, Lena7142



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Amnesia, Depression, Flashbacks, Gen, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Discovery, Self-Harm, Service Dogs, Small Towns, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers-centric, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, sort of not really?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-24
Updated: 2017-05-24
Packaged: 2018-11-03 22:47:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10976955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icoulddothisallday/pseuds/icoulddothisallday, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lena7142/pseuds/Lena7142
Summary: The world has changed, and none of us can go back. All we can do is our best, and sometimes the best that we can do is to start over.Now with a translation inрусский.





	what makes you happy

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [what makes you happy/что делает тебя счастливым](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11330733) by [archeoptah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/archeoptah/pseuds/archeoptah), [niammer69](https://archiveofourown.org/users/niammer69/pseuds/niammer69)



> Gratitude abounds! Many thanks to [AgentCoop](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgentCoop/pseuds/AgentCoop) who beta'd despite how busy she was and writing her own story for the RBB. I probably never would have finished without deceptivesoldier, buckysawsteve, and ceeainthereforthat who reassured me this wasn't crap during a moment of writing crisis. And thank you to frau_argh, who handled the claims process so I didn't have to! 
> 
> Finally, many thanks to Lena7142 who's stunning art I got to write for and who was fantastic and supportive and enthusiastic through the whole process. It was an absolute pleasure!
> 
> The self-harm referenced is a big spoiler and is probably not very triggering, but there's a more complete warning in the end notes for those of you who might be sensitive.*
> 
> Now with a translation in [русский](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11330733).

 

The sun filters through the second story window and Steve rolls over, up in an instant. He makes the bed with precise, steady hands and changes into a t-shirt and shorts. Summer, his service dog, leaps off the bed and waits by the door, tail beating against the floor. She's as impatient for the impending run as he is.  He pads through the hallways quietly, knowing that Sam's probably still asleep. Sam might join him for a second loop, later, but Steve doesn't like to wait. When he wakes up in the morning, his skin prickles with unused energy. His body doesn't feel like it fits right until he's run a couple miles. 

Steve pauses in the kitchen to get breakfast for Summer and a protein bar for himself. Sam's always on him to eat more, and the doctor Steve sees once a month agrees. As it is, he easily puts away twice what Sam does and he feels guilty as hell about it. He doesn't work, really. Sam says that he's got money from before and that they're just fine when it comes to finances, but Steve worries none-the-less. Pulling a bottle of water out of the fridge, Steve heads for the door, pausing to grab his sneakers. Like most mornings, he sits on the porch while he does up his laces, watching the morning sunlight filter through the leaves. Summer sits next to him, tail hitting his back gently, _thump, thump, thump._ She blinks her big brown eyes up at him and hops up excitedly when he gets to his feet. 

It's a warm summer morning. Later it will probably get hot and sticky, but there's still a cool edge to the morning air. It's easily Steve's favorite time of day, the birds chirping and the smaller animals rustling in their dens. Summer's ears are flicked up attentively as she trots by his side. Steve never bothers with a leash on these early morning runs. Sam and he live at the very edge of town, only a quarter mile from a trailhead that Steve likes. Summer's well trained enough to stay next to him as they navigate the empty roads between their little house and the trail. Once they hit the trail she'll be more playful, chasing after squirrels and scrambling through the brush, and later Steve will have to brush out tangles and snarls from her fur. 

Steve starts up at an easy pace, though he’s capable of much faster. It's easy to fall into the rhythm of the run, to let the heavier worries and thoughts fall to the wayside. His feet hit the ground with a steady beat and he and Summer easily traverse the rocky and hilly terrain. There are more difficult hikes and running trails around, but Steve likes this one for the morning. It loops back to the house and is just challenging enough to keep him engaged, but not so long or difficult that his four legged friend has trouble with it. By the time they reach the midway point, the sun has crept up over the trees and the day's heat is starting to build. Steve pauses by a familiar boulder and takes a long pull from his water bottle. He carries a little collapsible bowl for Summer, so he pours her a generous helping and lays back, the sun hot on his face. His whole body pulses with the run. 

_ it's another fever and his whole body hurts. a woman he thinks is his ma hovers over him, whispering too quietly for him to hear and wiping his forehead with a cool cloth. he can feel his heart beat in every joint and he's not going to cry, despite the heat, despite the pain, he won't make this harder for his ma.  _

_ please, stevie, please. just keep fightin' for me, lamb. you're so strong. you'll live to see another summer. _

_ he coughs and there's a tearing pain and blood in his hand and his ma's face is so scared _

_ i'll be okay, i'll be okay _

He comes to with Summer licking his face, her big worried eyes looking down at him. Steve tangles his hands in her fur and hugs her close despite the sudden stifling heat. He breathes deep. His chest doesn't hurt. It's alright. He's alright. 

"I'm okay," he tells Summer. "I'm okay."

*

When Steve returns home, he's soaked through with sweat and the house smells like bacon. 

"You're the best, Sam!" he calls as he kicks his shoes off in the main hall. Summer trots into the kitchen, probably to greet Sam and beg for a piece of bacon. Steve knows that Sam doesn't think Steve is aware that Sam spoils his dog rotten, but it's alright. She deserves it. 

"Don't I know it!" Sam calls back. "How was your run?" 

Steve pads into the kitchen and ducks his mouth under the kitchen faucet for a long drink of water. 

"Good," he answers as he comes up for air. He doesn't mention his episode. Sam always gets that pinched, worried look on his face when Steve has them, and Steve is fine so there's no reason to worry him. If he can picture his ma's face now, when he couldn’t an hour ago - well, that wasn't really any of Sam's business. Some things could just be his. 

"You reek," Sam comments as he flips pancakes. "Shower before bacon."

"Aw, Dad." Steve says with an eye roll, though he agrees. He stinks and definitely needs a shower. Sam tosses a strawberry at him and Steve expertly catches it in his mouth. 

"Show off," Sam mutters at his back as Steve takes the stairs two at a time. Summer follows and leaps up on his bed, rolling over to show her belly. Steve pauses to give her a quick belly rub, before gathering up his towel and heading for the bathroom. The house is shabby on the outside, but newly renovated on the inside, and the shower is luxurious. Steve turns the hot water all the way up despite the building heat outside and strips while the water warms up. 

With the sweat of his run washed off, Steve speeds down the stairs, arriving in the kitchen just as Sam is plating him up a pile of pancakes and bacon. They eat in quiet. It's Tuesday, so Sam will be driving into the nearest city to work at the VA and Steve will be helping the O’Malley’s at their little grocery. 

Life is simple. 

Sometimes that itches, deep inside. 

But mostly it's good. 

Steve sees Sam off, promises to call if anything strange happens. He promises the same every Tuesday. Nothing strange ever happens. 

The work at the O'Malley's isn't formal and he doesn't get paid, but Steve still likes to show up at the beginning of the day. Still, he takes the time to work knots out of Summer's fur and put her service vest on. He doesn't like to put it on her when they're not going to be in public, especially when it's so hot out, but it gets her in the door places, and he appreciates that. Steve and Summer take the beat up old truck into town, Summer sitting in the passenger seat, head out the window. 

There's always a place to park on Main St. and this early, there's a spot right in front of O'Malley's, but Steve still drives around the corner so paying customers can use that spot. Mrs. Bernard always complains if she can't get up real close to the store - her joints bother her. Summer waits patiently while Steve hooks her up to her leash, but then bounds out of the car. She takes point, checks around the corner for him, before padding happily towards the front door, tongue lolling. 

"Good morning Steve!" Mrs. O'Malley greets as she lets him in the front door. "How are you this morning?"

"Doin' alright. What about you? Did you and Mr. O'Malley hear back from Beth yet?"

Mrs. O'Malley can chat about her daughter Beth for hours. Steve likes to listen. He likes to listen to all the people here. Most of their children have moved away, to big cities and the like, and the people who stay are comfortable, like an old pair of shoes. Steve doesn't have much that's older than six months, so it's nice, that feeling of familiarity. 

Erica is out today--her young daughter is sick and there's no one to watch her.  Nobody else can cover her shift, so the O'Malleys offer to pay him for the day which is how Steve finds himself in the freezer aisle, not somewhere he usually helps out. One minute, he's lining up ice cream cartons on the shelf, wondering whether Sam would prefer cookie dough or moose tracks tonight, and the next -  

_ cold air hits his face or maybe it's water and his whole body shudders and he gasps for breath and he can't breathe and water is pouring down his throat except it's not water it's ice  _

_ and he can't see the surface and he's not sure he wants to, cause  _ **_he's_ ** _ gone, he fell into the ice and steve deserves this, the ice on his toes and his fingers and his eyelids crisping and his teeth are chattering so hard he thinks he's chipped one and maybe it would have been better to go dancing _

Summer is licking his face and whining quietly. Steve's hands clasp in her thick fur. He's on the floor, and the door to the freezer has shut. That's twice in one day. They don't usually come that often. 

"Steve?" Steve blinks up, shivering. Mr. O'Malley is standing there, a worried expression on his face. "Son, are you alright?"

Steve rasps, can't quite find his voice. He's not so sure he is okay. 

"I think you should go home and get some rest, alright?" Mr. O'Malley has kind eyes. They remind Steve of the ma he only just remembered. He nods, still voiceless. There's ice cream melting all over the floor, but Mr. O'Malley tells him to give it no mind and walks Steve to his truck. He fusses a little about Steve driving until Steve is able to assure him that he'll be able to make it home just fine, that he'll pull over if he feels at all fuzzy. 

It's not the first time Steve's had an attack at work, but it’s easily the worst. The others had been flashes, little moments of lost time. But the O'Malleys know that Steve's not quite right. 

He should call Sam. Instead Steve climbs into bed and closes the blinds and shuts his eyes. Summer curls up beside him, laps at his face until Steve realizes he's crying and drives his palms into his eyes, forcing the tears to stop. 

He dreams in fragments. 

_ there's a room that's not quite right, and the breeze smells stiff and clean, and everything's just shifted off to the side, and he sleeps there for a long time he thinks  _

_ and then there's noise and lights and screaming and blood and fighting and his fists against a punching bag again and again and again  _

_ thump thump thump  _

_ and his ma's fingers on his wrist, listening to his heartbeat, and she's trying not to look too worried, but Steve knows it's not good and that he's going to havta see a doctor and they don't have the money for that  _

_ he plays in the street, alone, though there are others playing baseball just down the way, they won't let him play, so he crouches on the edge of the road and tries not to lose the marbles his ma got him for his birthday and wishes he had someone to play with  _

_ they've thrown the windows open but it's hot and sticky and they both lie shirtless on the floor and wish they had a penny for a popsicle from the place on the corner and he talks about when he's grown he'll have a house with a pool and steve will come live with him and it will never be this hot again  _

_ but the cold is just as bad  _

_ maybe worse  _

This time, it's Sam who wakes him, when he knocks on the door to Steve's room. Steve makes a croaky noise. He's disoriented from the dreams, not quite sure where he is. But Summer's there, leaping off the bed and going over to the door, tail wagging. Sam opens the door, face concerned. 

"Steve, you alright man?"

Steve shrugs. Taking a seat on the edge of the bed, Sam glances at his watch. "It's only six. Little early to be in bed, huh?" 

Steve sighs. He guesses there's not really any way to avoid telling Sam about his day. "Had an episode at work," he admits, shutting his eyes so he doesn't see the worry that always crosses Sam's face when Steve has an incident. "Had to come home."

"That bad?" Sam has his 'therapist' voice on, now, all soft and non-judgmental. Steve kinda hates it. He doesn't want to admit to how bad the episode was, but Sam will just call Mr. O'Malley if Steve doesn't spill. Better to control what gets said. 

"I was putting away ice cream. The cold's never good." 

"I know," Sam says softly. Most of the time, there's no telling what'll trigger an attack, but if there's one thing that consistently does, it's the cold. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No." Summer licks Steve's hand and he starts hauling himself up. He needs to feed his pup and he should probably eat something too. 

"Alright, man. I'm here if you need me." Sam offers him a hand, and Steve lets Sam pull him to his feet. "I'm going to defrost some lasagna for dinner. You in?" 

He really should eat. 

"Yeah, thanks." 

* 

A summer storm whips up over night. The wind and thunder shake the windows in their sills, and lightning keeps spilling light into the dark house. Steve doesn't sleep. 

He lays awake, sprawled on his back with Summer on top of him, and counts the minutes between the lightning and thunder. He thinks he used to do this with his ma, but maybe not.. Maybe it was with a friend? He's not sure. 

He's not real sure about anything. 

Trees go down all around town during the night. Sam and Steve both pitch in the next day to help get the roads cleared. It's mindless, dull work, but Steve doesn't mind. The whole town's out, and they’re helping in whichever way they can - there are trees blocking access to the school and a couple houses were hit pretty hard. Even the kids are out, gathering twigs and teaming up on some smaller branches. It's nice, watching people work together. 

But Steve feels strangely separate from it all. He floats in and out, losing time, and coming back to himself when Summer licks his hand. They're not episodes, not really. He's not flashing back, not remembering things or imagining things or whatever it is that happens to him. Instead he's just - somewhere else. 

* 

Natasha comes to visit, sometimes. It doesn't happen all that often, and she never gives them much warning, if she gives them any at all. Instead, she just shows up at their front door, stays for a couple of days, and then leaves without saying goodbye. She and Sam spend a lot of time talking quietly behind closed doors on these visits, so Steve goes out on long hikes and runs. 

Sam tells him that Natasha and Steve are friends But she doesn't really talk to him, just looks at him with steely eyes. Once he found her going through his desk drawers. Sometimes she looks at him and Steve can feel her anger. So he's not real sure he and Natasha are friends, not really, though she always gives him a hug when she arrives. 

Natasha's not the weirdest of Steve and Sam's friends, though. He's not sure who holds that position, really. Wanda is quiet and looks at Steve like she can hear his thoughts, speaks with a barely there eastern European accent, and twitches like she's expecting someone to jump her. She doesn't like to be inside very much, so she and Steve and Summer go on long walks where they don't talk at all. Steve really likes Wanda. 

Then there's Clint, who usually turns up with casts and bandages on various appendages and stays a couple weeks. He sits himself in front of the TV and teaches Steve dirty signs and has a lot of opinions about cartoons. In the evenings, they sit on the front porch and drink beer with Sam while the sun sets. Clint's kinda awkward and prefers sleeping on their couch rather than the full bed in the guestroom, and he swears at Steve and Summer when they get up in the morning to run. But Steve doesn't mind having Clint around. 

Scott never visits, but every once in awhile, he remembers to call. Usually that happens in the middle of the night and Steve lies in bed listening to Sam talk on the phone. Steve's not sure if Scott really counts as his friend.They've talked on the phone all of two times in the six months that Steve's been living here, and Scott mostly completely loses the ability to speak when that happens.

Steve doesn't really know what T'Challa's deal is. He doesn't visit either, but Sam calls him once a week and talks for exactly twenty minutes. Steve's never seen the guy or heard his voice, and Sam always looks troubled after talking to him. T'Challa isn't a friend, but he's a person from before, and friend is the only word Steve has for understanding people who stuck around when he forgot them. 

He's not sure why that is. He feels like there are people missing from this assortment, but he doesn't know who. Sam has a family, Steve knows, one that he misses and that misses him. Steve's not sure where his own family is. He wonders what happened to his Ma and why she isn't there, reminding him of things from his childhood. 

*

The summer drags on into September, a warm heat settling over the world. The days fly by with soft monotony. 

The O'Malleys are more careful with him now, and they never ask him to fill in for Erica again. Sam talks on the phone in hushed tones and changes the channel from the news whenever he catches Steve watching. Summer sticks close as Steve’s attacks come a little more often. 

Steve feels the air changing. 

* 

In October, Natasha comes. She arrives in the middle of the night, pounding on the door and waking Steve from a confusing dream where’s he small and frail and feels stronger than he’s ever felt in his life. 

Panic grips him tight as he wakes, but Summer snuffles wetly in his ear and reminds him to breathe. Steve can hear Sam’s door opening and the stairs creaking, then muffled voices. He gets up slowly, knowing he won’t be able to go back to sleep until he sees what’s going on. He pads on silent feet through the house with Summer like a friendly ghost beside him. 

The stairs cut through the house with a landing between the first and second floor. From the landing you can see the front door, but people in the entrance can’t see you. Steve pauses there when he catches sight of Natasha. 

“ - goddamn HYDRA,” she’s saying. There’s a blooming bruise around her eye and she’s folding her arm funny, like it’s sprained. She hands over a stack of files to Sam. 

“Did you find anything?” Sam asks and Steve has never heard his voice like that - so defeated and tired, filled with a desperate hope.

“I’m sorry Sam,” Natasha’s voice is low and rough. “The longer we look the more unlikely it seems that there’s any way to reverse it.” 

“Fuck.”

“You’re a good friend. It was selfish, what he did to us. What he did to you.”

“Yeah, well. He might have earned the right to be selfish.” 

Steve’s heart is pounding in his chest. They can’t - they’re  _ not  _ talking about him, they can’t be. 

He clears his throat and they go immediately silent, heads swinging his way. 

“Sorry we woke you, Steve,” Sam says, all gentle and soft, “I know you haven’t been sleeping well.”

“It’s alright.” Steve presses his leg into Summer’s furry body and she leans a little more of her weight against him. “Should I set up the guest room?” 

“That would be great.”

Steve feels Natasha’s hard stare and stony silence all the way up the steps. He fetches clean sheets from the linen closet. Making the bed up with fresh linens is a mechanical task and it gives his thoughts too much freedom to run amok. 

Steve doesn’t know what Natasha was to him before. Sometimes he wonders if they loved each other. Sometimes he thinks it’s unlikely they were anything more than colleagues. There’s a creak behind him and Steve whirls around, dropping a pillow and shoulders flying up to his ears. 

Natasha’s leaning against the door frame, watching him with sharp eyes. 

“Hi,” he says stupidly. She stands up and walks over, gives him her usual perfunctory hug. 

“Hello Steve.” 

“I’ll, uh, I’ll let you rest.”

He hurries out of the room and doesn’t slow until he’s tucked under his covers, Summer curled in the hollow of his stomach. Steve tries to go back to sleep but he can’t. He feels like he’s swallowed a can of worms. He wishes Natasha hadn’t shown up and then feels immediately guilty for that desire. Steve may feel uneasy with Natasha around, but Sam’s  _ always _ more relaxed when she’s staying with them. It’s like there’s a sudden load taken off his shoulders. 

Steve thinks that the load might be him. 

*

Steve had hopes that he’d be able to leave the house for his jog without seeing either Sam or Natasha, but it’s all for naught. Natasha is sitting on the front porch, curled up in the wooden swing, holding a mug of coffee. 

“Come sit.” It’s an order, not a request. Steve sets his sneakers down and lays Summer’s leash around his shoulders. He picks a creaky metal chair to sit in and doesn’t meet Natasha’s eyes.

“Sam says you’re remembering more.”

Natasha always calls it  _ remembering _ , not  _ episodes _ and that scares him. A lot of the things he sees during his attacks are not things he’d wish on anyone. There’s a lot of fear and a lot of pain hiding in the mixed up images that come over him. 

He shrugs. None of the images ever make any sense. There’s nothing in them that he can thread into any sort of logical story. 

“I remember my ma,” Steve offers. 

Disappointment flashes across Natasha’s face and she doesn’t say anything more. Sam gets the same look on his face, sometimes, when he cracks a joke Steve doesn’t understand or when Steve asks a question he should already know the answer to. 

When Steve gets back from his run, Sam and Natasha are both gone. There’s a note stuck to the fridge that reads  _ gone driving, be back by 2.  _ But it’s Saturday. Steve and Sam go into town on Saturdays. They go to the bookstore and get lunch at Mabel’s diner and get groceries at the O’Malleys. They do it  _ every  _ Saturday. 

Steve’s not sure what to with himself. He tries sitting on the porch with a book, but can’t settle. He throws Summer some balls, but she’s still tuckered out from their run that morning. He attempts to bake some cookies, but forgets they’re in the oven and burns them. Steve could go into town on his own, but it just doesn’t have the same appeal without Sam. 

A dark, creeping sense of isolation and loneliness falls over him. It feels terribly familiar and makes Steve want to run and run until he can’t breathe, until there’s nothing at all that he recognizes. Maybe if he goes fast enough and far enough he’ll come back around to something that feels like home. 

He doesn’t run though. Instead, he pulls his bedroom curtains closed and climbs into bed. He’d forgotten to make it that morning and the sheets are a jumble. Not having the energy to straighten them, Steve just curls up in a ball on top of them and falls into something like sleep.

*

Sam doesn’t come to wake him up, and when Steve finally emerges from his room, Natasha is long gone. 

*

On Thursdays, Steve and Sam drive down to the VA together. Summer comes with -- wears her bright vest and is on her best behavior. Some of the other vets have service dogs and none of them ever ask what Summer is for, which is a question Steve's grown sick of.  Still, Steve likes to stay at the back of the room during the meetings with Summer leaning warmly against his calf. 

Listening to the stories makes Steve feel strange in his own skin. 

People talk about the heat of the desert and of thinking there's an IED on every corner. Later, Steve has to ask Sam what an IED is, about other things people mention like they're common knowledge - 9/11 and the First Gulf War and the Bush presidencies. Sam looks wary but answers anyway. 

There are some things that he remembers a lot about, but he doesn't know where the information comes from. He has surprisingly strong opinions about 20th Century economics but Sam had to teach him how to use his debit card at least twice before it stuck. His doctors say that it makes sense that he doesn't remember the war, murmur about trauma compounding the issue. Steve tries to argue that he shouldn't go to meetings, since it might "compound his trauma", and Sam looks at him like he is full of shit. 

Sam may have a point. 

Steve just really doesn't like the meetings, he really doesn't. But Sam insists he go and Sam is kind and good and puts up with Steve even on his worst days, so Steve goes. Usually after the meeting, he leaves the VA. There's a walking trail and a library and a cafe nearby, so Steve reads or walks Summer or just sits quietly with his hands on a hot cup of coffee. 

One day in early September, Steve doesn't do any of those things. Instead, he wanders to a back room in the VA, feeling restless. There's a group of vets there, playing cards. They're a lot older than the ones in Steve's group, faces lined and tired in a way that feels familiar. He pauses, unsure of his welcome. Summer's tail beats a familiar beat on the back of his leg. 

One of the men looks up from his cards and lifts an eyebrow at Steve. "Whatchya lookin' at, boy?" 

At that, the other men look up too, turning to look at him. Steve forces his body not to fidget, squares his shoulders and plants his feet. 

"Aw, don't give him such a hard time, Johnny," another vet pipes up, "This is why we don't ever get any new players, y'know."

"Is that why?" The man now identified as Johnny says drolly, "And here I thought it was ‘cause you were an incurable cheat." The other man doesn't deny anything, just smirks. Something in Steve's shoulder eases. 

"Y'know how to play poker, boy?"

"Yeah," Steve says, not really thinking about it. But after a moment, his brow furrows and he adds, "I think."

"You think?" another man says archly. "Either you can or you can't!" 

Steve flushes, scratches at his beard. "I got injured," he explains, not looking at them. "Don't remember a lot." 

"You'll fit right in, then!" Steve glances up. They're all grinning. One man pushes out a spare chair with his cane, waves him to sit. 

It takes Steve a few moments to get settled, mostly because of Summer. Looping her leash around the arm of the chair, Steve gives her the signal to lie down and keep watch. She takes a position where she can see the door and her rump settles warmly against his calf. When Steve looks up, the vets are watching them. 

"Fine dog you got there," the man who spoke up in Steve's defense says. 

"Thanks," Steve says. The air feels a little stifling, the pause awkward. He's not sure what to say or do.  He doesn't really interact with many people. 

"I'm Al - and that's George and Leonard, and you've already met Johnny."

"I'm Steve." 

Leonard deals him in and Johnny says, "Now, boy, let's see if you can play poker."

It turns out that Steve does remember how to play, he just can't bluff for shit. The vets heckle him ruthlessly about it, but they give each other just as much of a hard time, so Steve doesn't mind. The whole thing is nice, actually. He likes the way they talk and their easy camaraderie. They don't seem to mind that he doesn't speak much. They don't ask him any questions either.  The conversation between them is easy and touches on lots of topics, and they include him in their gossip easy as you please. 

Leonard's courting a gal' at bingo night, George tells him. Johnny and Leonard give George a hard time about his wife, who's too damn pretty for him, according to them. Johnny and George talk about their grandkids, show Steve pictures they keep in their wallets and not on their phones. Their stories and anecdotes settle over Steve like a warm blanket, make him laugh, and keep him smiling, so he goes back the next week, and the week after that. 

It becomes routine, comfortable. 

Then one day, they talk about the war, about the trees and the rain and the sound of planes overhead and the roar of tanks and huddling in muddy holes- 

_ the sound of gunfire is familiar and his shield arcs and swings through the air, and he knows the men have his six, and that Dernier’s gonna take care of the tanks any minute now, and he’s bracing himself for an explosion _

_ and he’s lying back to back with a warm body, watching the snow fall outside _

_ “no, not without you,” and fire and heat and - _

“Son, you alright there?” Leonard’s voice cuts through the fog and Steve looks up, startled. His hands fly out, looking for Summer, who’s there and pressing close before he can call for her.

“I - I need - I need to go,” he mumbles, stumbling to his feet.

“Whoa,” George says, scrambling up and steadying Steve. He’s the tallest and fittest of the men and Steve still feels like a giant beside him.

_ he looks up at him and grins as a warm arm comes up and around his shoulders and he rolls his eyes _

_ his mother tsks as she cleans a scraped knee, knobby and pale _

_ he counts his ribs in the broken mirror and wonders how he's going to get money for food this week  _

"Steve?" That's Sam's voice, calm but worried, more familiar than most things are these days. And then there's Sam's warm arm around his back, not quite right, strange and dissonant. 

Steve blinks his eyes open again and Summer licks his hands and he tries to focus on Sam's kind, dark eyes and uses Sam's strength to steady himself back on his feet. 

"You alright, man?" Steve nods, but he can tell that Sam doesn't believe him. "It's time to get home now anyway," Sam says in a softer tone.

Fuzz fills his brain, making it hard to focus or track what he's doing. He thinks he says goodbye, then somehow he and Sam and Summer make their way out of the VA, down the block, out to where they parked the truck. Steve lifts Summer up into the cab. Usually she likes to sit in between he and Sam on the bench, but today she sprawls over his lap, warm and heavy. 

They're quiet as Sam navigates out of the city, just the sound of the engine between them. 

"What happened?" Sam's voice is soft, but stern, and Steve knows he's not going to get out of any questions. The problem is, he's not exactly sure what happened. 

"They - they were talking about the war, I guess. And...it was different than what people say in group. It seemed more right, I guess? And then - was I in an explosion?" 

It's the first time Steve's really asked anything about his past, at least since the first early days, waking in a private hospital room somewhere hot and humid. Sam licks his lips nervously, hesitates before he answers. 

"Yes."

"And - did I serve somewhere it snows?" 

Sam's hands tighten around the steering wheel, skin stretching taut over his knuckles. 

"Yeah, you did."

"Where? I mean, most of the vets our age served in the Middle East," Steve knows that from group, from the news, from things Sam has said about his own service. 

"It's...complicated," Sam says. Steve looks out the window. He doesn't really expect Sam to say anymore. They don't talk about Steve's past. It's never been explicitly said, of course, but Sam and all of Steve's other friends avoid the topic as much as they can. He's surprised when Sam continues, "You served - I guess you could call it special ops. It was pretty classified stuff, man. I mean, I don't know if there's anyone who knows everything you did while you served."

"Oh."

_ No one alive  _ is what Steve hears. 

* 

Next week, Steve doesn’t get up Thursday morning. He stays in bed, even when Summer goes to fetch Sam. 

“C’mon man, you need to get out of bed,” Sam coaxes. 

_ c’mon stevie, you gotta stay in bed, you gotta get better _

_ we need the money  _

_ we’re gonna be fine, just rest a little longer  _

It’s quiet for a long, heavy moment. Sam sighs. 

“I’ll let Summer out before I go.” 

The door sounds deafening when Sam closes it behind him. 

_ the door opens and closes so quietly he doesn’t even notice, eyes fixed on a face he almost recognizes and he feels the breathing before anything else and he turns  _

_ do you know me _

Steve stays perfectly still until he hears the truck rumble to life and pull out of their driveway. He rolls onto his back and stares at the ceiling. His brain feels empty. 

Everything feels empty. 

_ do you know me _

*

Steve likes watching the leaves change color as October turns to November.  It’s their first fall here, but the sights and sounds feel somehow familiar.  Even when he's done with his run for the day, Steve finds himself taking long walks in the woods. The whole forest looks like it's on fire. 

He dreams about the explosion every night now,  _ not without you, not without you, not without you  _ echoing through his brain all day in a staggering rhythm. 

Sam spends more time talking on the phone with his own family, voice quiet and sad. 

They don't talk about Thanksgiving. Steve wants to ask Sam why he doesn’t go home, wants to tell Sam that he’ll will be okay, for a couple days. But he doesn’t. 

*

The snow comes early and hard and takes them all by surprise, a couple days after Thanksgiving. When Steve wakes, he’s shivering. The light filtering in through his window is gray and dry. He sits up slowly, stretches his hands up. 

_ I thought you were smaller  _

He dresses in jerky motions, sweatpants and a long sleeve t-shirt, wool socks, and pads through the house with Summer on his six

_ I’ve got your six, stevie  _

He doesn’t realize it’s snowed until he steps into the kitchen, sees the white world outside the window. Stumbling through the room Steve throws open the kitchen door. The wind picks up, throws snow into his face

_ there’s not enough time, I got to put her in the water  _

_ please, don’t do this, we have time, we can work this out,  _

_ this is my choice  _

_ you sure about this? _

_ I can't trust my own mind, I think going back under is the best thing _

“Steve, man? Steve, you with me?”

_ I can’t trust you _

_ I read about you in a museum _

The door closes and Summer drapes herself across him. Sam’s hovering over him, face creased into a worried frown. 

“Sam?” 

“I think we’re staying in today, man.” Sam helps him up and Steve follows him into the living room without really thinking about it, sits when Sam tells him to sit, accepts the fleece blanket wrapped around his shoulders. Summer plants herself firmly in his lap and he puts his hands on her sides and feels her breathe and shudders. 

Sam sits next to him. 

It’s quiet for a long time. 

*

Steve’s never felt quite like this before. Never have the episodes come so close together, piled on top of each other all willy nilly, not a thing making sense. Words and scenes blur together, in and out. 

_ for a while his ma and him share a bed, except he’s too old to be sharing a bed, really, she works nights and he sleeps and she sleeps during the day and steve feels like he never sees her and he misses her and he pulls the pillow close to his body at night, breathing in the smell of antiseptic and castille and rosemary that his ma always smells like  _

_ he’s alone on a train and he screams and he cries and his heart falls and falls and falls  _

_ and he’s alone on a train wearing clothes that don’t feel right and looking at a sky that’s so gray it seems like all the color’s been sucked out of the world  _

_ he hits the punching bag until his hands bleed and he watches his skin knit back together and punches some more  _

“I’m here with you, man. I’m getting you some help, alright. I’m with you.”

_ I’m with you until the end of the line  _

_ end it _

_ you’re my mission  _

_ you’re my friend  _

_ my friend  _

Summer’s tongue laps over his face and Steve is there for a moment, before he’s spinning, out, down

_ he tastes like alcohol and cigarette smoke and he’s smiling when they fall into bed, puts his whole body around steve’s and steve’s the right size for the first time in forever _

_ he’s kissed within an inch of his life, back scraping up against the bark of a tree, and he doesn’t care, he couldn’t ever care _

_ I thought you were dead _

_ I thought you were smaller  _

_ once, when he was very small, he fell out of a tree he was climbing, or maybe he was pushed, and he falls and he crashes and steve wraps his hands around his head and the other boy laughs  _

Natasha’s there. Steve’s not sure when Natasha got there, but she’s hovering by his bed and speaking quickly with Sam in words that Steve can’t quite make sense of. 

_ he throws his body on top of Natasha’s and there’s heat and a blast and pain, but the pain is deeper and harder than he knows, pain that turns into anger and settles close to his bone and aches  _

_ sometimes he can’t remember ever being warm, he remembers stitching blankets into his coats and lining worn out shoes with newspaper and pretending that he’s warm enough to go out, remembers shivering under a pile of blankets watching frost creep across the window, remembers wrapping up in a too small sleeping bag, two feet of snow outside his tent _

“Someone has to be able to help. Someone has to know what to do.” Sam’s voice is frantic and Steve wants to reassure him, but can’t find his voice. “We can’t just…”

“There’s only one person to ask.” 

“No,  _ no. _ Barnes is the reason we’re in this fucking mess in the first place.”

_ barnes, barnes, barnes,  _

_ a boy with dark hair and light eyes and two missing teeth offers smiles wide and offers him half his hot dog  _

_ there’s a girl with a cleft chin and freckles who follows them around and gets in trouble when her dress gets torn  _

_ he works so hard and sends every little bit that doesn’t go to rent or food or medicine to his family  _

_ she tsks and gently turns his face and “steve rogers, aren’t you ever gonna stop picking fights?” _

_ sergeant james barnes, shipping out for england first thing tomorrow morning  _

_ his hand scratches out the name in pen and ink on cheap paper and he wishes there was some way he could say all the things that need saying, everything he never said  _

Summer’s warmth comes and goes, and Steve hopes that Sam is walking her and feeding her. He doesn’t know how long he’s been here, drifting in and out. It feels a minute, a month, a century.

_ when the pain is getting to the point where it is immeasurable, where it feels like being ripped apart and put back together, someone offers to stop, but he will not and he cannot  _

_ the white, metal framed bed is pushed up against the wall in the very corner of the room and he hacks and he heaves and there’s a familiar, pressing ache in his lungs _

_ “mrs. rogers is he gonna wake up? he’s gotta wake up. he’s my best friend.”  _

_ steve breathes  _

_ the mattress is dusty and the sheets need to be washed, newspaper has been taped over their windows to try and keep what little warmth there is inside  _

_ “don’t you die on me rogers. don’t you dare die”  _

_ steve breathes  _

There’s the sound of a helicopter outside and a lot of frantic activity Steve can’t quite keep track of. He tries to focus, just a little. 

Sam lifts his body and he groans, his head flops back. He feels like he might puke. There’s an IV in his arm, but Steve’s not sure when that happened. Natasha watches with sharp eyes as he’s loaded onto a stretcher. She’s got her hand around Summer’s collar and the dog whines. 

Steve wants to tell them it’s going to be okay.

_ do you know me  _

_ you’re steve, I read about you in a museum  _

_ everyone in the goddamn world has read about him in a museum, knows a list of things about him that don’t even matter and sometimes aren’t even true and they only see what they want to see, a hero in red white and blue.  _

_ your mom’s name was sarah, you used to wear newspapers in your shoes _

_ can’t read that in a museum  _

_ he crashes into the water, he crashes into the water, he crashes into the water  _

_ they used to go swimming when they were young and he would swim until his lungs ached and his toes started to turn blue and then they would lie on the beach and let the sun bake their bones  _

_ you remember that time we had to ride back from rockaway beach in the back of that freezer truck? was that the time you used our train money to buy hot dogs? you blew three bucks trying to win that stuffed bear for a redhead. what was her name again? _

_ what was her name again  _

_ what was her name  _

“Did you call T’Challa?”

Steve doesn’t know where Summer is and he shifts uneasily, tries to find her safe, warm, furry body. 

“Yes.”

“And?”

“They’re taking him out of cryo.”

“Are we sure this is what we want to do? Steve was alright until -” Sam makes a sound halfway between a growl and a sob. Steve wants to thank Sam for all he’s done. He’s done so much. 

“I don’t see what our other options are, Sam.”

_ sorry, nat, I can’t sign it  _

_ I know  _

_ well then, what are you doing here  _

_ I didn’t want you to be alone _

_ ice creeps across his face and over steve’s heart and everything is tinged with blue fury, he’s so angry, he’s so fucking angry, how could he choose the ice over him  _

_ is steve so wrong that  _

_ that’s him on the side of the building and the word fascist in red, like blood, blood on snow and sand and pavement  _

“Clint’s going to meet us in New York, we’ll go from there to Wakanda.” Natasha sounds firm, but softer than she sometimes does. Steve wonders if he knew that Natasha and Clint know each other. He’s never seen them together before, not even in a photograph. He doesn’t know hardly anything about Natasha, he realizes, not even what she does for work. Steve feels suddenly guilty. He hasn’t been much of a friend to her, maybe not to any of his friends. 

“How’d you manage that? Whole lot of direct flights to Wakanda in the middle of the night on a Sunday, are there?” There’s anger and resentment and a whole lot of other things that Steve’s never heard in Sam’s voice before and it makes him want to punch somebody. 

But he thinks that somebody might be himself. 

“Do you really want to know?” 

_ yeah, brother, we all got the same problems. guilt, regret. _

_ you lose someone? _

_ my wingman, Riley. _

_ remember when I made you ride the cyclone on coney island? this isn't payback, is it?  _

_ nothing I could do. it's like I was up there just to watch. _

_ I'm sorry. _

_ after that, I had really hard time finding a reason for being over there, you know? _

Steve doesn’t really see the man he later realizes is Stark, except for a glimpse through metal doors. He’s slight and dark haired and wears sunglasses and an expression that looks like anger and regret. He looks tired like Steve feels tired. 

_ this isn’t gonna change what happened  _

_ I don’t care. he killed my mom.  _

_ thank you but I can get by on my own  _

_ the thing is, you don’t have to  _

_ he was my friend  _

_ so was I  _

His head starts to ache and throb sometime after they get on the new plane. He opens his eyes long enough to make eye contact with Sam, who surges to his feet and races to his side. 

“Steve? Steve, you with me?”

“On your left,” he says, voice weak. Sam makes a sound like he’s choking and Steve’s eyes flutter shut. He’s already forgetting why he said it. 

The pain and the confusion follow him down and down and down… 

_ what makes you happy? _

_ I don't know. _

_ it’s past midnight when they stumble home, mindless and joyful, and the door closes behind them and they’re kissing like they need it to breathe and his hands tangle under his shirt and he kicks his shoes off and loops his fingers in his belt loops  _

_ he glances up from his sketch to see him lying, lazy like and content, a grin on his face and his blue eyes smiling  _

_ you ready to follow captain america into the jaws of death? _

_ hell, no. the little guy from brooklyn who was too dumb not to run away from a fight? I'm following him. _

_ where are we going? _

_ the future _

_ I’m fine, he says, I’m fine.  _

_ you got shot, stevie  _

_ it’s already healing, go check on dernier  _

_ frenchie’s fine, stevie. you’re not invincible, y’know, and you gotta stick around. it’s me and you against the world, pal, and the world’s gonna beat me if you ain’t there. I’m not strong like you.  _

_ his name echoes into a scream, echoes into the wail of the wind and his arm wasn’t long enough and he couldn’t reach him and he wishes he just let go, dammit, he wishes he let go  _

“There’s been a call. He’s awake.” 

“Yeah? And what’s he got to say for himself, huh?” Sam is close, so close Steve can feel his warmth. Summer’s familiar weight is draped over his legs and Steve wonders if she’s been there the whole time. He wishes he could raise his hand and pat her head and tell her what a good girl she’s being, but his whole body aches and trembles and he doesn’t think he could move a finger if he tried. 

“That something like this happened to him.” Sam makes an angry grunting noise in acknowledgement of Natasha’s words. “Says we just have to wait it out.”

“Fat lot of good that does us.”

“He was upset,” Natasha says, quieter. Her voice is almost gentle now and Steve can imagine her dainty hand on Sam’s muscled shoulder. “Really upset. He wanted to know why Steve did it.”

“Well isn’t that just the million dollar question.” Sam sounds sad, sad and defeated.

_ he fought for a long time, can't really remember a time where he wasn't fighting, his bones ache and his joints throb like he's actually ninety years old, like they did when the weather changed, back before  _

_ he would rub his knees and elbows, talk softly about his day, wrap warm blankets around Steve’s shoulders until the pain was bearable _

_ when he woke up it was all pain and there was nobody there to wrap a blanket around his shoulders, it was all cold days and sharp edges and  _

_ a hero? like you? you're a lab rat, rogers. everything special about you came out of a bottle! _

_ they put it all up on the screen, every fight he’s fought. he thought he won them. he thought he was doing the right thing, that he was protecting people.  _

_ I don't want to kill anyone. I don't like bullies; I don't care where they're from. _

_ It’s supposed to be a shield but he wields it like a sword, breaking bones and making men bleed _

A hand slides into his. It’s not Sam’s - it’s too small, the skin too cool. Natasha’s hand is small in his, so fragile, and she squeezes it with such incredible strength. He thinks he loves her. 

_ you know, it's kind of hard to trust someone when you don't know who that someone really is. _

_ yeah. who do you want me to be? _

_ he wakes up in a hospital and everything hurts. sam and natasha are by his bed, but he doesn’t know their names yet, doesn’t know anything yet, and they turn to him and there’s expectation and judgement in their eyes and  _

_ steve? the voice is soft and warm and (what makes you happy) and he doesn’t know anything  _

_ who’s steve?  _

_ am I steve? _

_ she turns away, but not before steve sees her cry (who do you want me to be)  _

_ if it were the other way around, and it was down to me to save your life, now, you be honest with me, would you trust me to do it? _

_ I would now  _

“Natasha? Clint says we’re going to land soon.” Natasha makes a sound and nods. Sam puts his hand on her shoulder. “You don’t have to be in here. I know it’s hard for you.”

“I didn’t want him to be alone.”

_ I didn’t want you to be alone  _

_ steve goes home, clutching his papers. he can’t stop staring at the 1a, can’t quite believe it’s real. but when he gets home to their little one room apartment the lights are all off and there’s no one there and steve is all alone on the cusp of something  _

_ he’s alone in the bombed out bar and he’s breaking into little pieces and everything is so sharp and clear and she’s there and did you respect him and he must have thought you were worth it and allow him the dignity of his choice  _

_ his face goes slightly blue under the frost and he goes stiff and maybe that’s what he would have looked like if steve had gone looking like he should have, dead but not quite, and then they could have had a life together  _

_ when I went under, the world was at war. I wake up, they say we won. they didn't say what we lost. _

_ we've made some mistakes along the way. Some, very recently. _

_ trying to get me back in the world? _

“Where is he?” The voice is achingly familiar, somewhere deep inside his bones. 

“Back off, Barnes.” Steve’s never heard Sam so cold or angry 

_ Look, whoever he used to be and the guy he is now, I don't think he's the kind you save. He's the kind you stop. _

“My name is Bucky.” 

_ my name is bucky  _

_ bucky  _

_ who the hell is bucky  _

_ you know he remembered you, your pal, your buddy, your bucky  _

“We need you, that doesn’t mean we trust you,” Natasha’s voice snaps out like a whip. The voices are coming from another room, Steve realizes as his eyes flicker open. 

_ you’re my friend  _

_ you’re my mission  _

_ finish it then, cause I’m with you til the end of the line  _

“I’m not going to hurt him.” 

Sam snorts. “Oh yeah, and why do you think he did  _ this _ ?” 

“I wasn’t - I didn’t make him do that.”

_ don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone _

_ how could I, you’re taking all the stupid with you  _

_ the ice creeping over bucky's complexion as he sits in the chair   _

_ bucky, in the valkyrie beside him, freezing with steve, the water filling their mouths and noses and airways and lungs and the ice claiming their toes and fingers. cells bursting, blood freezing. steve had been awake until the ice reached his brain.  _

_ you could do whatever you want to do, what makes you happy? _

_ I don't know _

“Does he remember?” Bucky’s voice is soft, and Steve’s heard it that way before 

_ I’m sorry about your ma _

_ the thing is, you don’t need too,  _

_ don’t you dare die on me, rogers  _

_ I thought you were smaller _

“No. No, he doesn’t remember anything.” 

“He’s remembering though. I mean, that’s why they woke me up, right?” 

Sam doesn’t answer. Steve can imagine the look on his face though. Sam doesn’t like Bucky, hasn’t ever liked Bucky. 

_ he's the kind you stop. _

_ I don't know if I can do that. _

_ well, he might not give you a choice. he doesn't know you. _

_ he will.  _

_ do you know me _

_ you’re steve  _

“I can’t believe Steve would - why would he want to forget?” 

“I don’t know, man. You tell me.”

_ flipping through the well worn file, steve comes to a familiar page. he's looked it over a hundred times, late at night, when he couldn't sleep even though his bones ached with exhaustion. the schematics are in russian, but steve had natasha translate the whole thing in the early days, before the idea even occurred to him.  _

_ her hand is old and fragile and he aches because he wants to look like her, he wants to have lived his life, and died an old man, with bucky by his side  _

_ bucky was - is - everything. and steve's tried. he tried his goddamn best to go on without bucky, when he thought he had no choice. and then he dropped everything, when he thought there might be a chance, even the slightest chance that he could have bucky again.  _

_ the world has changed, and none of us can go back. all we can do is our best, and sometimes the best that we can do is to start over. _

_ he knows it all by heart but he glances over at in one more time, before he approaches the chair. it's easy to find the control panel, equally simple to set everything to maximum power. he doesn’t want to risk it not working. he needs this to work. _

_ _

The next time Steve opens his eyes, he’s lying on a proper bed, looking up at a white ceiling. There’s a warm breeze making the sheer curtains flutter. He sits up slowly. As he moves, Summer surprises him by leaping up and putting her paws on the bed. Steve smiles and pats her on the head. Tongue lolling out of her mouth, Summer’s tail beats a rhythm across his bare feet,  _ thump, thump, thump _ . 

Steve thinks he recognizes the room; thinks it’s the room in Wakanda he’d stayed in the first time. That had been different, though. Steve strokes his fingers through Summer’s silky fur and tries to piece everything together. 

It’s all a mess in his head, all out of order and confused. What must it have been like, he thinks, for Bucky, all alone and piecing this maelstrom of memory and emotion together into something functional, something human. Steve hadn’t been alone. Not much makes sense, not yet, but he knows he wasn’t alone. Sam had been there, and Natasha too. They’d taken care of him. 

They’d taken care of him for months even though he’d been the worst kind of coward. He’d made himself helpless and they’d looked after him. Sam had stood by him every day, never acted like it was any sort of hardship. Steve owes him a debt he’ll never be able to repay.

Steve scoops Summer up into his arms. She woofs a little surprise but doesn’t otherwise protest. Steve likes to feel her heartbeat against his chest.  

The door opens. 

“Steve?”

“Bucky.” 

_ fin.  _

**Author's Note:**

> *Steve subjects himself to the chair, wiping his own memory. 
> 
> You can find Lena on tumblr at [portraitoftheoddity](http://portraitoftheoddity.tumblr.com/), and me at [icoulddthisallday](https://icoulddthisallday.tumblr.com/), if that's your thing.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The End of the Line](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11032959) by [TetrodotoxinB](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TetrodotoxinB/pseuds/TetrodotoxinB)




End file.
